Between Devil and Demon
by cmr2014
Summary: Already choking on anger in a virtual war with himself, Vash finds himself faced with a decision – allow people to be killed, or risk being consumed by his anger and becoming a killer himself. Anime-based, set between the events of "Diablo"/"Vash the Stampede" and "Demon's Eye".
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: Trigun and its characters belong to Yasuhiro Nightow.

**Between Devil and Demon**

Something was wrong with Vash.

Something had been wrong ever since he faced Monev the Gale. At first, it was hidden behind a mask of cheerfulness; but as he trekked through the desert shortly after the adventure concerning the geoplant by Promontory, the mask had faded.

Meryl Stryfe and Milly Thompson had done an admirable job of hanging in there, keeping pace and trying to engage him. The mask was gone, however, and Meryl found herself worried by this laconic Vash whose blank expression was betrayed by a look in his eyes that made her want to cry.

Worried enough that she had fallen back, taking Milly with her. He walked alone with whatever pain he was carrying, leaving the two ladies to follow and fret in his wake.

"Mr. Vash seems awfully upset over the fight with that Monev the Windstorm person," Milly stated at one point, concern in her eyes.

"Monev the Gale," Meryl corrected absentmindedly, lost in her own worries and reflections. "But there's no reason for him to be. He's never killed before, and he didn't this time. If we knew what was bothering him…"

They did not. Whatever was wrong, he kept it to himself, marching on like a stoic soldier heading to yet another battle, while seemingly fighting one in himself. And so Meryl and Milly could do nothing for the time being but follow.

Meters became kilometers. Days passed. Vash didn't say a word.

"What do you think is wrong, Meryl?" Milly asked one night. They were on their bedrolls, having eaten a cold dinner without a fire. Vash was several hundred meters away. Even at night, they were giving him his space. Meryl feared that, even if they were right next to him, he would still feel a thousand iles away.

"I don't know, Milly. Maybe he doesn't, either."

"I bet Mr. Wolfwood would be able to get him to open up."

"Maybe he would. But maybe not. They're as different as they are alike."

"True," Milly conceded. "Mr. Wolfwood's darker."

"Yes, he –"

"Do you suppose Mr. Vash is lighter because the coat keeps the sun off him more?"

The sound of Meryl's palm hitting her forehead carried through the desert night. "That's not really what I meant, Milly. There are things that bother Vash that I don't think bother Mr. Wolfwood. Or if they do, not as much. He might not be able to understand what Vash is going through right now, any more than we do. Anyway, he's not here, so it's no use wishing he was. Let's get some sleep."

"Ok." Not needing any more prodding than that, Milly yawned and closed her eyes.

Meryl was awake longer, thinking about Vash.

His recent behavior was unlike him. Usually when he was not happy, he at least faked it, wearing a smile that did not reach his eyes.

She realized she had come to be able to tell the difference between the fake smile and the real one, the one that did show in his eyes. Realized she preferred the latter. When had that happened?

Thought back to the night after Monev's attack. When she had seen why Vash always wore a coat. She was unable to forget the look in his eyes. Wanted to make that look go away and never come back. No man should ever feel ashamed or embarrassed because he had paid the butcher's bill so others wouldn't have to.

When Vash confessed that he was afraid women wouldn't like what they saw, Meryl had been unable to stop herself from blurting, "I wouldn't run away." Corrected herself quickly, but had recognized the truth for herself. If other women were too stupid to realize the scars and metal were badges of honor, that was their problem. She would not run away from a man whose own body was a testament to his true character.

Something was wrong with Vash. Whatever it was, Meryl wouldn't run.


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: Trigun and its characters belong to Yasuhiro Nightow.

Not so long after, their water started running low. Vash soldiered on, one foot in front of the other, but Meryl and Milly spoke in low tones about their situation.

"What will we do if we run out of water? Should we leave Mr. Vash to look for more?"

"We have enough left for the time being," Meryl replied. "You're bigger, so if it comes down to it, you can have some of mine. I'd like to put off splitting from him as long as we can. We'll start trying to save what we have, and if we don't come to someplace with water in the next couple days, then we'll go looking for water on our own."

"I'm sorry," Milly apologized. "I know you want to stay with him, it's just that –"

"It's ok, Milly. It's our job to follow him, but we can't do that if we die from thirst."

"I wasn't talking about the job."

Before Meryl could respond with a denial of whatever Milly was implying, a canteen landed in front of them; it was Vash's. They looked up, but there was no sign that he had thrown it. He kept moving.

"Thank you, Mr. Vash!" Milly called, scooping up the canteen. Smiled happily at the time this precious water bought them.

Meryl remained worried over Vash's silence. It was like him to share water, but not in this manner. Still, she held her tongue.

Another day of silence passed. Even Milly was less chipper than usual. She and Meryl watched the water carefully.

One more day, Meryl decided. One more, and then if Vash was not going to look for water with them, they would have to go themselves, while they still had any left.

She kept herself distracted from worrying about Vash by worrying about their water situation. Watched for signs that there was water nearby. Thought about how to approach seeking the precious liquid. Since leaving Promontory, they had set up some simple condensation traps each night and collected the water the following morning; however, while any extra water was welcome, the amount they were able to add this way was minimal.

It was comforting, though, to notice that Vash waited for them each morning while they collected the condensed dew. He wasn't lost to her yet.

_To us_, Meryl corrected herself. Even if she accepted that she felt – _something_ for Vash the Stampede, he was still an assignment, first and foremost. Her concern for him was only in a professional capacity. Now get back to the water situation.

It wasn't encouraging. They passed by several animal skeletons.

"Is that good or bad, Meryl?" Milly queried, staying well away from the skeletons.

Meryl shrugged; thirst was starting to tug at her, but she didn't want to take a drink just yet. Worked her mouth for a moment to get the dryness out before replying. "It shows there's no water around. But there are animals, or were at some point. If we can find some live ones, or at least their tracks, there's an outside chance they could lead us to water. It's better than nothing."

Milly nodded in agreement. "Do you think Mr. Vash would be willing to look for water with us? I do like it better when he's around."

Meryl didn't mean to let it, but a sigh escaped her. "I don't know, Milly. Right now, I don't know anything about that man."

Her partner let it go at that, but did give her an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

That night, as the dew traps slowly collected moisture, Meryl looked at the stars. There was a certain constellation that she was well-acquainted with. Its actual name escaped her; she always thought of it as the December constellation, because it was over the city of December. For her, it always pointed the way home. Looking at that constellation now and its position in the sky, it was clear to her that home was a long way away.

When the suns rose, waking the two-plus-one trio with them, Meryl set her jaw and faced the fact that today was the day they might have to leave Vash. Ignored the sad feeling that brought to the edge of her mind.

Milly watched her partner hem and haw and put it off as long as possible, making several false starts. When the dual suns were overhead, however, she said to Meryl, "I don't want to leave him, either. But we need water."

"I know," Meryl said. "But stop implying I don't want to leave him. I've just been getting the words right in my head, is all. You know how crazy he makes life; things will be a lot saner without that donut-starved maniac!" _Hmph_'ed in punctuation.

Hot and tired as she was, Milly grinned and shook her head.

Meryl picked up her pace and caught up to Vash. Before she could actually broach the subject, though, he preempted her without even looking her way.

"I'll look with you."

That caught her off guard. "I know your hearing's good, but I didn't think you could hear us all the way back there."

"When the wind's right. It's the desert, sound carries. And you need water."

Her head cocked. "You make it sound like you don't."

"I might. I might not." It was said casually, but without any humor or smile. It made her reach another decision.

"What's bothering you?" she asked.

Her answer was silence.

"You can't keep it in forever."

More silence.

"Ok, fine, be that way!" See if Meryl ever tried to help again, if he was going to cop this attitude!

She was so busy being irked at him she didn't notice him stop. "Oof! What's the idea?"

He knelt down and pointed in the sand. "Tracks."

Meryl knelt down, too, though she had no idea how to read tracks. "Animal or human?"

"Thomas. Too heavy to be wild; these had riders. Might be water somewhere close."

Meryl called Milly to join them. Explained the tracks on the ground. "What do you think?"

"I think where there's people, there's water," Milly said. "I'm all for it." Smacked her lips in anticipation of water that didn't come from a canteen.

They followed Vash for a while, as he followed the tracks he saw. It felt good to Meryl, being a real trio again. Felt like things were a little closer to being back to normal.

That changed when Vash stopped. Knelt down and scooped up some sand, filtering it down through pinched thumb and forefinger. "Damn."

"What is it?" Meryl asked, coming up beside him.

"Blood." Dug through the sand some more, until he pulled something out.

Meryl recoiled at what was left of a human left hand, stripped partially to the bone by animal teeth. A simple wedding ring was on the third finger.

Taking several deep breaths to regain her composure, she said, "Well, if someone was out here and was killed by animals – at least those are indicators of water, right? People and animals wouldn't be around without water."

"Animals didn't kill whoever it was," Vash stated grimly. "This was sawed off."

"Maybe someone cut off their own hand for some reason?"

Shook his head. "You know what's more likely. Somebody was murdered out here. Whoever did it had a vested interest in making sure the body didn't get found."

Let the hand fall back to the ground and stood up. "We should look for water somewhere else."

"Why?" Meryl challenged. "There's water close by, and all we know for sure is there's a hand that looks like it was cut off. There's no conclusive evidence of foul play, but very definite evidence that we need water, and you said you would go with us to get some. We should follow these tracks until we find water. Then we'll decide what to do from there."

"I said I'd look with you, not get you killed."

"Nothing will happen," Meryl said confidently. Need for water overrode the deep-down worry of what a sawed-off hand could mean. "And since when you are you afraid of trouble, anyway?" Marched off to tell Milly what they would be doing.

Vash saw again the terror on Monev's face. Felt the trigger just a few pounds of pressure away from being pulled. This man would die at his hands, and he would not give a damn.

If not for Rem, it would have played out that way.

"It's not trouble I'm afraid of," he murmured.


	3. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: Trigun and its characters belong to Yasuhiro Nightow.

A little while later, a town began to shimmer into being on the horizon. Milly whooped for joy. Meryl smiled a little smile of relief. Vash didn't change expression.

Meryl touched him on the arm. When he looked at her, she broadened her smile in reassurance and nodded. His response was to shake his head.

He was not refusing to go with them. She could tell he just was worried about what was going to happen. But his eyes were just so sad…

Her hand slid down to his and grasped it. Even with his gloves on, she felt a thrill as he closed his hand around hers. The look in his eyes changed for a moment. What was that she saw in them…longing? Hope? What went through his mind as he looked at her and they held hands?

Then the moment was over. Vash sighed and gently placed her hand back at her side, releasing it and moving forward again.

Meryl realized she had been holding her breath. Released it, squared her shoulders, and marched forward with the other two. At least there had been something in him other than that secret pain he refused to share with her.

_With us_, she corrected.

The town ceased to be a hallucinatory shimmer and became a reality. The closer they got, the more Meryl realized it was less of a town and more of a village. But who cared? There must be water, otherwise it wouldn't be here, and water was what her body cared about.

It was the end of a long, hot day by the time they reached it. Between the three of them, there was now one canteen left. Meryl was unable to tell whether Vash was, but both she and Milly were already scanning for the saloon, hydration on their minds.

A thomas sounded as its rider spurred it in front of the group, blocking their path. The rider sat tall in the saddle, lean and tough and leathery. There was nothing nice about his scowl, nor about the rifle he leveled at them with one hand, either.

"Staying long?" he demanded.

His tone irked Meryl, and after the journey the trio had just been through, she was in no mood to hide it. "So what if we are? We'll pay our way."

"We don't take much to strangers, not even ones with money. My advice, do your business and leave. Nobody likes people who overstay their welcome." He tried to put some venom into it, but venom had never worked well on Meryl Stryfe.

"Now listen, you overcooked jerk of a man, my name is – hey!" she exclaimed as Vash stepped in front of her.

"Just passing through," he informed the man in the saddle. "Need water and food and rest. We'll get it and leave."

The barrel of the rifle traveled up to between his eyes. Vash faced it unflinchingly, focused on the eyes of the man with his finger on the trigger.

When the eyes of the man with the rifle looked into the eyes of the man in the red coat, he recognized at least some of what he saw. If he tangled with this man, he knew he would somehow lose. The rifle raised.

"Do your business and get out!" The thomas trotted off into the night.

"I suppose that was the welcome wagon?" Meryl snorted.

Vash looked at her, too cognizant of what had nearly happened. That rider's finger had been pretty tight on the trigger. The hand that brushed her hair was gentle; his words were not. "That mouth will get you killed. Put the safety on and quit shooting it off."

Strode off, leaving a shocked and fuming Meryl to stomp after him, Milly trying to calm her down.

The saloon was not hard to find; if not the exact center of this tiny place, it was close. A second story indicated it also had rooms for rent. The lights were on, but there was no music yet and things were not very raucous. It was still early, though. Saloons and bars were a great way to tell how rowdy a town was, but only at party time. The quiet now might get loud later. Vash passed by the swinging doors, giving the inside a once-over.

Meryl still had her dander up over his comment, and slammed through the doors, Milly in her wake. Vash let all eyes be drawn to them and watch them walk to the bar before slipping in himself and sidling along the wall to a corner. Waited for people to go back to their drinks before moving along the side wall and up to the bar next to Meryl and Milly.

The bartender was a wiry 5'9", neatly combed hair the color of rust and trimmed mustache the same shade. He looked at the two insurance girls, assessed their dust-covered appearances. While everyone was watching their entrance, he had noticed Vash use the ladies as cover for his own quiet entrance. He knew the hallmarks of a dangerous gunman. It was rarely the loud, blusterous ones you had to worry about for anything beyond property damage. The truly lethal did not draw attention to themselves...unless they were ready to make their lethality known.

"Ladies. Gentleman. What'll you have?" His voice, while deep, was quiet and measured. Relaxing, the way a good bartender's was. Even as he spoke, he was searching his mental files for anything matching a tall blond gunman in a red coat.

"Water," Meryl and Milly both proclaimed.

"Whiskey." Vash slid a bill on the bar, covering all their orders.

The bartender looked at the bill. "Must be thirsty."

"Yep. Give the ladies all the water they can handle, and we'll need to top off our canteens."

"Water's scarce around here," the bartender commented. "You're asking for a lot of it."

"How scarce?"

"Scarce enough to be expensive. You may have noticed we don't have a plant."

Vash indicated the bill on the bar. "What's this buy?"

A glance was directed at the insurance girls. "Maybe enough refills for the short one. Tall one, maybe, maybe not. Not enough for drinks and the canteens."

"How much would cover it?"

The bartender smiled. "Have the drinks for now. Get a little loosened up. We'll talk money later."

Chuckle. "The same all over the place, you are. Have a drink now, get in the mood to buy some more drinks later."

"You know the story." The glasses were set up. "Wife and ten kids to feed."

"Sometimes fifteen," Milly contributed cheerfully.

The bartender laughed as he poured their water. "Yes, ma'am, and sometimes a few cousins thrown in, too."

Meryl and Milly drank down their water thirstily as the bartender set up Vash with his whiskey.

"Leave the bottle."

Bartender looked at him, then shrugged. "Keep in mind, I don't want any trouble –" Lowered his voice to a mutter. "– Vash."

If the gunman was surprised at being recognized, he showed no sign of it. Merely poured a shot. "No trouble. Not in the market."

The bartender nodded and proceeded to chat with the insurance girls. Vash got to work drinking, starting with rinsing the dust out of his mouth, then focusing on the feel of the liquid fire. He knew it wouldn't work, but still hoped it would.

They had only been there a little while when the swinging doors banged open again. "Kurtz, you son of a bitch!" barked a voice that cracked with adolescence. "I've got my gun on, let's finish it like men!"

Every face looked up. Meryl and Milly turned. The bartender glanced up, taking in the scene. Vash alone stayed focused on his drink.

Heard a chair scrape as someone stood up. Boots sounded on the floor, going up to where the adolescent's voice had come from. Not heavy steps, light. They sounded to Vash the way his own steps had when he slipped into the saloon. The subconscious part of his mind was already plotting their location and angles in relation to where he was. Laying out trajectories.

The man who stepped up said no words, just waited.

Leather creaked, but the kid was too slow, too inexperienced. A cracking demand of "Let go!" told Vash the man had grabbed the cylinder of the boy's gun, keeping it from going off.

A grunt as the gun was removed from the kid's hand. One by one, the sound of shells hitting the floor, five in all. A cylinder spinning before the click of it being closed.

"Everybody dies." This voice was low and raspy. Sounded like its speaker was about the same height as the bartender. "Which one of us will it be?"

A click as the trigger was pulled on an empty chamber. "Your turn, boy."

The gun was placed in a hand shaking so badly Vash could hear the firearm rattle.

"Come on, boy. You wanted it finished."

Shaky gasps coming from the teen. The hammer being cocked back again, breath coming more ragged. From where the sound of the hammer came from, Vash knew it was not at his head. Good; the game would end here, the point would be driven home, further violence would be avoided. The kid would have the rest of his life to get over losing face.

Meryl did not see it that way. "Hey!" she burst out. "You can't just –" Stopped as Vash laid his hand on her arm.

"He's yanking the kid's chain. Leave it alone."

"But –"

"_Leave it alone._"

It was too late. Her exclamation had been heard. Vash heard the boy be thrown to the side. Several pairs of boots moved, but stopped halfway. Only one pair continued up to the bar.

Vash turned his head just enough to get a look at the man called Kurtz. Clean-shaven, mean knife scar down one cheek. His guess had been right, the man was about the same height as the bartender. Same kind of wiry build, too, except where the bartender was relaxed, this man was like a coiled spring. Or like a gun ready to go off.

Kurtz gave Meryl a silent once-over. Then his eyes traveled over to Vash, scanning over him, and they lit. He saw something in Vash's eyes that the kid's had not held, and his teeth bared in something that could be a grin or a snarl or both.

Hand drifted down by his holster. Somebody not looking might not have noticed him lightly flick off the strap keeping it from accidentally slipping out, the movement was that smooth. Vash noticed.

_Not going to pull_, Vash told himself. _Not going to _that _place again._

"Leave it alone," he said once more, quietly, eyes locked with the other man. "Nobody wants to die."

Kurtz the gunman whistled through his teeth, eyes still locked on the windows to Vash's soul. "I think you do."

It was faint, from across the room, but Vash caught it – a shell being pushed into a chamber in a frantic attempt to load a gun.

Somebody else heard it, too, and they were fast. Leather whispered at the same time as a hammer was thumbed –

But just a heartbeat slower than Vash's fluid movement as he took his shot glass and stepped to the side of Kurtz and threw, the glass seemingly propelling itself from his hand and knocking the man's gun off balance as it fired, sending the bullet –

To barely miss the kid who had started this whole thing rolling, the bullet slamming into a table leg an inch above his arm where it would have hit. He went ashen, too stunned to even aim, let alone pull his own trigger. The man who fired the shot cursed and thumbed again and –

Was sent flying by an X-shaped projectile with such force that it used him to knock aside a table before slamming him into a wall. He was unconscious before he hit the floor.

Heads turned to see where the hell _that_ had come from, and found Milly holding her awesome stun gun.

"Who else wants some?" she asked calmly, all good humor gone from her face.

Before anyone else could answer, Kurtz commanded, "Pack it up! We're done for the night."

"But Mr. Kurtz –"

"No buts! Gutman, get Geiger off the floor. Everybody who works for Ms. O'Brien, clear out!" Turned back to Vash, voice low. "You're good, cowboy. We'll see who's better, when it's time to decide who dies."

After Kurtz and company had departed, Milly re-slung her stun gun and brought the teenager to the bar, where she and Meryl fussed over him. The color was coming back to him, but he was still fairly pale.

"Think some whiskey would help?" Meryl asked the bartender.

He shrugged and set up two glasses, one a replacement for the glass Vash had thrown. "Old enough to be stupid is old enough to drink."

The kid grabbed the shot and tossed it back, then threw a coughing fit that spit half of it out.

"Miserable bastards," he fumed, fire in his eyes even as his hands still shook. "Just wait. There's a war coming to this town, and when it does, I'll kill them all!"

Vash cuffed him on the side of the head, knocking him off his stool.

"Vash!" Meryl scolded, but was ignored as the gunman took a few steps and stood over the adolescent.

"You don't want war, boy." Voice was low and dangerous, suddenly the growl of a chained animal. "You don't want to know what it's like to see people die, and you don't want to know what it's like to be willing to kill them. You don't _ever_ want to know that you have that kind of darkness inside you."

Turned to the bartender. "Need a room."

The bartender nodded, unshaken by both the incident and Vash's address to the teen. "Upstairs." Tossed a key to Vash, who caught it easily and left another bill on the bar before heading upstairs.

As shocked as she was at his behavior, Meryl still noticed the way he quivered as he walked. The way his trigger finger twitched.


	4. Chapter 4

DISCLAIMER: Trigun and its characters belong to Yasuhiro Nightow.

"_They're dead. People are dead."_

"_Who the hell cares?!"_

"_You killed all the people – you killed them all! And you are the one solely responsible for all their deaths. Now you are also going to die!"_

"_Don't kill me – please don't kill me! I'm sorry! I don't want to die!"_

_Vash the Stampede did not care, any more than Monev the Gale had cared about the innocents who had not wanted to die. He was past the point of caring. It was time to put the mad dog down. _

_Finger tightened on the trigger…_

He awoke with a start, right arm slapping at his left to knock the shot off course. Blinked in the darkness, squeezing his hand just to make sure it was empty.

Just another nightmare. Remember to breathe. Remember how it happened – he had not taken a person's life.

The problem was he had wanted to.

Sat up in bed, rubbing his face. Threw off the sweat-soaked covers and walked to the window, opening it and looking at the sky, something he was used to doing instead of checking the clock. Middle of the night, but maybe the bar would still be open. Or maybe he could help himself. One way to find out. Dressed and went downstairs.

The lights were mostly out. A few lamps were lit by the bar, keeping the darkness at bay with a dim glow; in a town without a plant, things had to be done the old-fashioned way. Things were quiet, the only sounds those of chairs being set on tables as the bartender cleaned up.

"Howdy," he said without looking up. Vash paused for just a step on the stairs, something clicking in his mind, then continued down and to the bar.

The bartender put the closing-up on hold and went behind the bar. "Whiskey again?"

The usual humor was out of Vash's voice. The nightmare had left him tired and gloomy. "Consistency is key. Hit me."

The bartender set up a glass and poured. "Can't sleep?"

"Not well. Pour one for yourself, too."

"Don't drink."

"No?"

Shake of the head with a rueful smile. "No. Too many broken promises, but there's two I intend to keep. That's one of them."

"I think maybe I know the other one."

Eyebrow arched. "Do you now?"

Vash looked up, meeting the bartender's eyes evenly. "You're a pretty steady guy."

Shrug. "Some people are."

"You recognized me."

"I'm sure a lot of people do. You're pretty well-known."

"Mostly by reputation, not really by face. And that business with the kid – you didn't even flinch. Most people would have either ducked behind the bar or pulled a gun themselves."

Another shrug. "You had things in hand, as it turns out."

"You already knew I did," Vash commented. "You read me as soon as we came in, and you read that situation from the moment that kid stepped in it."

"Did I now?" The bartender was relaxed, like someone playing a friendly game of checkers and chatting with an old friend.

"Yep. How long have you been out of the Life?"

The bartender's mouth twitched into an expression not quite worthy of being called a smirk. "I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

"Cut it out. What's your name?"

"Folks usually call me Barkeep."

Vash snorted. "Be that way, then. But I have other questions. What is this place?"

"A bar."

"The town, you smartass."

Barkeep chuckled. "Welcome to the humble village of Kirk."

"Kirk?" Vash finally got around to taking a drink of his whiskey. "Weird name."

"It's supposed to be some kind of joke. I asked one of the old-timers once, why name it Kirk? He said when it was set up, the founders aimed to boldly go where no one had gone before."

Vash's eye gave a very slight twitch. "That might be the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

Barkeep topped off Vash's glass. "Maybe so. The people who founded this place seem to have been a little weird. Who in their right mind moves away from a place that has a plant? Still, they had their own beliefs and wanted to have a place where they could live them, and they were stubborn enough to make it work. Even knowing the water they found wouldn't last forever, Kirk has made a good run of it. But even the most stubborn have faced facts – without new water, this is a dying town. Big Sister O'Brien trying to run everyone out is only killing it quicker."

"Who?"

"Mercy O'Brien. She showed up maybe a little over a year ago, with her own private army. Started throwing money around, making like she wanted to be everyone's Big Sister. Most people were happy for the money she gave, but didn't want anything to do with her after she started in with buyout offers, even with the water level dropping – until things started going wrong. If she wanted your land and you said no, little things would start happening. The more you said no, the worse those things would get, until you said yes."

Vash gazed into his drink. "What's the law say?"

"Didn't have any law to begin with – everybody understood each other. Remember, we're talking about a small group of people who started this place because they all were of a like mind."

"Care to elaborate?"

"The idea, as I understand it, was to have a sort of 'voluntary community'. They didn't like living in places where being good with a gun is a ticket to do whatever you want to whomever you want whenever you want, but neither did they like living in places where the peace is kept by some central authority that decides what's right. They wanted a place of their own where they all generally got along and did what was needed because it needed to be done, not because they could do it or go to jail. A place of natural consequences, not artificial ones."

"You mean like you don't work, you don't eat?"

"Something like that. It doesn't make any sense when it's explained, I know, but I've been here a few years and seen people freely volunteer to do things just because somebody has to do them. It's worked well enough that they could function without organized law; until O'Brien showed up, at least. A little while ago, a man was picked to wear a badge. After the murder happened."

An image of a hand with a gold ring went through Vash's head. "Murder?"

"Oh, there's nothing to say it was murder. But everyone knows what it was. Not so long ago, somebody refused to sell, no matter how bad things got for him. Then he disappeared one night. O'Brien insists he lit out on his family. They're gone now, too – his wife wanted to stay, but you know how it is. Kids to feed and she needed the money."

"Yeah. I know how it is." Vash was really wishing he had not let Meryl prod him into coming here. "Where's the man with the badge?"

"After the murder, he got to wondering why O'Brien is going to all this trouble to buy up a podunk village. He went off to do some checking into things, see about getting some outside help. Maybe he'll be back soon, but maybe not."

"Who is there to keep her in check in the meantime?"

"Just the townspeople. One badge, one man." Barkeep's mouth was a thin line. "The kid was right about one thing – things keep going this way, there's a war coming."

Monev. Legato.

Knives.

There was a war coming, all right. What Vash the Stampede feared the most was what it would turn him into.

"You could pitch in," he said.

The thin line of Barkeep's mouth became a thin smile. "You've been told already – I'm just a bartender. Why don't you jump in?"

Having toyed with his drink long enough, Vash tossed the shot back. Waited until it was refilled before replying, "You have me mistaken for someone else. My name is La Mancha, and I'm just a used windmill salesman."

The thin smile let loose a chuckle. "I can appreciate that. But fair warning – try to straddle the fence, and you might fall off."

"Keep that in mind for yourself, chief. This war hits, you might have to break that second promise."

Tossed back his shot and laid a note on the bar. Returned upstairs. Maybe he could still get some sleep without what lurked inside him knocking to get out again.


	5. Chapter 5

DISCLAIMER: Trigun and its characters belong to Yasuhiro Nightow.

Meryl and Milly retired shortly after Vash did, the teenaged boy having calmed down enough to stomp off in a face-saving huff. Each room was designed only for one occupant, but their money was beginning to run as low as their water and the nearest field office was not near at all. After a short who-is-more-noble contest, Milly put her foot down and said she would take the floor and that was that, and that was how they came to share a room with Meryl lying on a mattress so beat up that you did not have to be a princess to feel uncomfortable on it.

She lay there, feigning sleep in her PJ's. Finally, she got up and crept out of the room, making her way to Vash's. Changed her mind and started back, then changed it again and returned to his door. Raised her hand to knock.

No. It was his business and she should not bother him about it. Started back again.

But after the scene she had witnessed earlier, she felt she should at least try to get him to open up. Went back to his door.

She was just raising her hand to knock when Vash's voice came from within. "Are you coming in, or aren't you?"

Blushed at having been caught in her hesitation, but gathered her fortitude anyway, and turned the knob and entered.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed by its head, pants on but shirtless, silhouetted in shadow and moonlight from the window. One hand ran through his hair as he blew out a tired sigh. His uncovered form was as she remembered, lean and muscular, but his silhouette gave the wrong impression. He was incomplete without the scars she had seen.

Vash took a box of matches from the bedside table where a portable lamp was. Struck one, lit the lamp. The lamplight gave the room just enough light to see by. "Close the door and sit down."

Meryl acquiesced, closing the door, but the only place to sit was either the bed or the floor.

"You can sit next to me. I won't bite."

Lately, she was not so sure of that. But she made herself rise to the challenge, defying her doubts and taking a few steps to sit next to him. His mattress was even lumpier than hers, the springs creaking under her slight weight.

This was Vash the Stampede. The entire world feared him, but Meryl Stryfe knew he was actually a donut-craving, liquor-downing jerk. She was unafraid of him, more than willing to knock some sense in when she had to.

So why was she so unsure of herself around him lately? When had he begun making her heart beat faster? And what was the significance of that?

Was she in love with him? Unlikely – she was too good at her job to let herself fall in love with the subject of an assignment, especially the most wanted man on the planet. Besides, she had no time for love in her life.

No, there was no chance that Meryl was in love with Vash. She absolutely _refused _to be in love, no matter how her body and emotions increasingly reacted around him.

"You want to know why I've been off-kilter lately," he said quietly. She jumped slightly as she was jerked from her thoughts. Hopefully, he had not seen it.

"Yes." Thank God she managed to avoid it coming out in a shy squeak.

Vash looked at her. Schoolgirl feelings be damned, this was important. She fought the urge to look away blushingly, instead meeting his eyes evenly.

"Have you ever seen a war?"

His words drove home the seriousness of what he was trying to talk to her about, and she shoved down her concerns about feelings. "I've been in combat, yes. You know that."

Shook his head slowly. "Not combat. Not just a gunfight. _War._"

Her head cocked. "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me. Combat is war, right?"

His frustration focused into a sigh, and he ran a hand through his hair again, searching for the words.

Meryl's own hand cupped his cheek. "It's ok. Relax. It'll come to you."

Hand reached up, softly touching hers as it touched his cheek. Took it, almost cradling it, his own calloused roughness balanced by her soft skin. Soft everywhere except for her own calluses on her trigger finger and thumb, and he knew her skill with her derringers was as earned as his own skill with his gun. He felt her hand, traced it, touched her fingers with his own, explored it like a koan that focused his thoughts.

"Combat's not war," Vash said at last. "It's only a very small part of it."

"Ok."

"War is – it's complex and simple all at once. You can have a lot of reasons to fight a war, and always a lot of when's and how's and especially who's. But at its core – it's just people killing. Right, wrong, in attack, in defense – it's always people killing other people. Most of the time, the people fighting – if they would just stop trying to kill each other, they're usually people with enough in common that they'd have a drink together.

"After the Fall, things were worse than bad. People were so busy surviving, they didn't even think about trying to rebuild. So panicked, all they were concerned about was seeing the next day.

"After a while, things got a little organized. Survivors found each other and formed up into groups. Supplies were scavenged. Survival worries went from the next day to the next week.

"Nobody had yet thought about checking out the plants. There was still nothing long-range. Development had progressed to people forming up, but that was it. And everything that people needed was running out.

"Some people tried to make things work. Found wild thomases and tried domesticating them for food. Started looking for water – a couple groups found enough ship wreckage to cobble together what they needed to drill for it. A lot of people tried to pull it together.

"But others just took what they wanted, jumping smaller groups, cannibalizing all their equipment and supplies. Sometimes more. And when those gangs met the larger, better-equipped groups – bodies filled the landscape.

"Finding the plants didn't make things better, not at first. Some of those larger outfits, once the plants were re-discovered, fought over who would get to use them. Good people died, people who just wanted to feed their own families, over something that could have supported them all. People killed each other over something that was meant to help all of them!"

Meryl was stunned to hear this unheard chapter of mankind's history on Gunsmoke. She had known things had started out bad – everyone knew that – but had never heard of people fighting over the plants, or of gangs victimizing people trying to survive. As far as Meryl knew, mankind had worked together to survive on this barren world.

"Don't get me wrong," he said, as though reading her thoughts. "A lot of people worked together. But just as many didn't. First, it was over who would survive, then it was over who would prosper. Sometimes, it was over a last name. But it was always war, a long-term struggle to kill everyone on the other side. Pointless."

"How do you know all this?" she queried, genuinely wanting to know but also trying to keep him grounded. She was getting the feeling he was being taken by the past.

"I helped where I could," Vash continued, ignoring her words. "But there was always Knives –" _Who's Knives?_ she wondered silently. "– and even when he left, there was only so much I could do. I didn't know enough then, and so many people were lost. And the more I failed, the angrier I got. It was so damn pointless – you kill them, they kill you, do it enough and there's nobody left. I got so angry at all these people killing, I wanted to pull the trigger myself, just to stop them. Just to let out all that anger. But I never killed anybody."

He had let go of her hand. Knees were tucked up against his chest as he held his arms tight around them. Meryl reached out to him.

"I never killed anybody," he repeated, and Meryl realized he clung to that fact like a lifeline.

"I know," she whispered soothingly, arms going around him and pulling him down on the mattress with her. Tugged his arms up, letting his legs straighten out. The small woman held the gunman close, trying to banish his past. "It's ok. You never killed anyone."

His voice was shaky as he confessed. "I wanted to. I wanted to kill Monev. So angry. I wanted to."

"It's ok," she whispered again. "You didn't. You've never killed anyone. That's what matters." Continued whispering soothing things until he relaxed.

The two people unable to find sleep alone found it in each other's arms.


	6. Chapter 6

DISCLAIMER: Trigun and its characters belong to Yasuhiro Nightow.

Several hours of blissful rest passed as Vash held Meryl. But even she proved unable to keep away the echoes of his past for long, and the memories resurfaced.

_Vash held his gun trained on the man not more than ten feet away from him, trying to keep his eyes from taking in the background carnage. Something inside him was nearing the boiling point as he fought not to look at the family that had died defending the wagon that held all their worldly possessions. The family whose five corpses were littered on the ground surrounding the wagon, its thomases having broken loose and escaped during the gunfight._

_Vash the Stampede had arrived too late._

"_Why?" Vash demanded, struggling to stay composed._

_The killer hawked and spat. "They had water and food. I wanted it. That simple."_

"_You didn't have to kill them all. If you were able to take them on by yourself, you were able to at least let the kids live."_

"_So?"_

"_You didn't have to kill them all, damn you! Even if you killed the three adults, you could still have let the two kids live, they were no threat to you. Why did you kill the whole family?"_

_The killer could have been scared of Vash, or defiant, or amused; he wasn't anything. There was no emotion as he gave his three-word explanation. _

"_Because I could."_

_There was no reasoning. All the killing would just go on and on and on. Vash could not stop it; he would never be able to save the human race from itself. The thing inside threatened to boil over…_

A movement against his skin triggered him. He rolled out of bed, gun snatched from beneath his pillow and coming up on target…

Meryl breathed quietly in her sleep, curled up in the sheets, blissfully unaware of the revolver's sights lined up between her eyes.

Vash's own eyes widened and his finger came quickly off the trigger. Took the gun off-line. Stared at the annoying, bitchy woman who had somehow become a friend…the woman who had brought a momentary peace to him in her arms.

He knew what he had to do. Laid the gun on the bed. Quietly but quickly pulled on boots and a shirt, fumbling to get the damn thing buttoned. Pulled gloves on hands that were already starting to shake, grabbed the gun and headed down to the bar, so distracted he didn't even scan as he went down the stairs.

The man called Barkeep was either awake or a very light sleeper, because at the sound of Vash coming down the stairs a door to a back room opened and Barkeep stepped out, still dressed in his clothes from last night.

Caught sight of Vash and stepped to the bar. Relaxed his right arm and let the collapsible baton hidden in the sleeve slide onto the bar and rest in plain sight, a sign of trust that Vash was not the trouble he had been anticipating. "Don't you ever sleep? Or do you just run on alcohol?"

His expression grew serious as he got a good look at Vash, gun shaking in a hand whose tremors were spreading to his arm. The gunman made it to the bar just in time to toss the revolver onto the nicked-and-scratched surface and brace himself against the bar as a violent shudder took hold and raced through him, threatening to force him to collapse to the ground. He swore, trying to control his rebellious body.

Barkeep was busy getting a glass and some pills and a bottle of tonic water, setting everything up for when it would be needed. "Quit fighting it," he warned. "Relax and let it run its course."

Vash could not say how long the attack lasted, but it felt like his body was having its own earthquake. He shook uncontrollably, hanging on to the bar with all the strength he could muster, and his heart seemed to try to beat itself out of his chest. His breath came in ragged gasps, and part of him felt like it wanted to break something for no other reason than to break it.

Finally, it passed. He leaned against the bar, chest heaving like he had just gone twelve rounds.

Barkeep poured some tonic water into the glass, put the pills into the water. They dissolved with a fizzing sound, and he placed the glass firmly into an unsteady hand. "Drink."

Vash shakily complied. "What – what was that?" he asked weakly, head lolling on his arms.

"Something to settle you. Always helped me."

"No. What – what happened to me?"

Barkeep's face was blank, but his eyes were sympathetic. "Killer's shakes."

"Never – killed – anyone," Vash gritted, still breathing hard. Eyes were glazed, still seeing his sights lined up on Meryl.

"'Killer' is not the important part. Some men, even some good ones, can kill and not be bothered."

"Why?" Vash cut in. "Can't ever understand why."

Barkeep took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. Even just talking about such things was getting close to opening doors he needed to stay closed, because of what waited behind them.

But the blond man before him was clearly in a bad way, the same as he had been in another life. Vash the Stampede needed help, and she would want him to help.

"Some people, killing doesn't bother because they don't have what bothers most folks; others, it doesn't bother because they know they were right to do it, no matter what anyone says.

"But most people whose work involves pulling the trigger are bothered on some level, even if it doesn't show. Even if they don't know it until after a long time. You get enough blood on your hands, eventually it won't wash off. At some point, that hits home. Maybe you kill one too many times; maybe you kill someone you weren't aiming at; maybe you meet someone who shows you the world's not just people who kill and people who get killed.

"However it happens, your worldview gets shaken at the core. You're not just putting holes in an object, you're taking a life. Taking away all the potential good this man might have done, taking away any chance a bad man might have to change for the better, and that's scary, because _you've_ changed for the better. You've found this wonderful woman named Jamie and you've got a chance for a future you never thought you'd have, and suddenly you mind dying.

"This happens, and every time you don't die, it hits home that someone else did, and at some point you will, and you'll deserve to. It's a crisis of conscience, and it hits you like a wave, the killer's shakes. Every time, it hits you, until you resolve that crisis."

"Who's Jamie?" Vash asked. Breathing had steadied, but he was still slumped against the bar.

"Hmm?"

"You said 'you've found this wonderful woman named Jamie'. Who is that?"

Putting away the tonic water, pills, and glass made a handy excuse to avoid Vash's eyes. "Just a random name."

Now Vash found the strength to prop his head up on one hand. "Don't feed me crap. And don't feed me that Barkeep crap, either, you're more than you say. Just who the hell are you?"

Barkeep met his gaze evenly, back on solid footing. "Call me Ishmael."

Vash snorted and pushed himself off the bar. Whatever was in those pills was helping his strength return from the "killer's shakes".

"I know a priest who's only a little more annoying than you. Here." Took his revolver from the bar and held it out, butt first. "I came down here because I need you to hold on to this."

The bartender's eyebrow arched as he accepted the weapon. Hefted it. "Heavy. Good balance, though." Lined it up. "Good sight alignment. I like the six o'clock barrel, bet it gives better control than most. Somebody knew what they were doing."

"Yeah. He's good at what he does," Vash concurred darkly of his brother.

"I don't mind holding on to it for you, but don't think just getting rid of it for a while will solve anything. You've got a crisis of conscience going on, and it's kicking up one hell of a storm inside you. Gun or no gun, it's going to tear you up unless you get it fixed."

"Maybe." Vash shrugged. "I've been called a hellspawn too many times to count. Maybe that's closer to being right than I've ever wanted to admit."

Barkeep shrugged back. "You don't look like any kind of devil or demon to me."

"Maybe I'm something in between."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. There's an old phrase, part of it is '…life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.'"

"The point?"

"The important part is that word – 'pursuit'. More important than achieving the goal, is that you keep _trying_ to achieve the goal."

"What if the goal is destroying the entire human race?"

Another shrug. "Everyone needs a hobby. Hopefully there's someone else out there whose goal is saving the entire human race, who tries just a little bit harder."

Vash shook his head. "You're a weird cat."

"Smile when you say that to a man with a gun." The revolver disappeared below the bar as a morning crow sounded from outside. "And so the day begins. You might want to get whatever sleep you still can."

"Why?"

"Because you caught Kurtz's eye last night. If you're going to be unarmed, you'll want to at least be sharp."

"What's his problem, anyway?" Vash queried.

"He's O'Brien's ramrod; keeps the rest of her men on leash, takes care of her dirty work. I'd wager over half the things she's ordered, he's done himself."

"Figure him for that murder you mentioned?"

"I do. You saw him last night; death isn't just his job. And between you and him, I think he's itching to know which of you survives a gunfight."

"Don't suppose he'd just let me say it's him and leave it at that?"

Barkeep snorted as he shook his head. "Nice thought, but no. On the other hand, he won't move on you without O'Brien's say-so. He'll be coming soon, I think, but it'll be to talk. Make no mistake, though – Kurtz is devil-ridden, for sure."

"I'm starting to think we should just get the damn water and leave, the hell with sleep."

"Too late. Big Sister is sure to already know about last night. She's not going to let any of you leave until she knows exactly how much of a risk you are to whatever she's got going on here."

Vash sighed and rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the persistent image of Meryl in his gun sights. "Damn it. I wish I'd stop getting dragged into messes. I think I _will_ try to get some more sleep. At least nightmares I can wake up from." Started up the stairs again. "Keep the damn gun. For good."


	7. Chapter 7

DISCLAIMER: Trigun and its characters belong to Yasuhiro Nightow.

Vash quietly entered his room again. It was dark in here still; despite the crowing sounds outside, the sky was in that gray space between the old night and the new day. Meryl didn't move; good, she was still asleep. Stripping off shirt and gloves, he snuck back into bed, trying not to disturb her. She rustled and nestled closer to him; his arm surprised him by acting of its own accord and going around her shoulders.

For about as long as they had known each other, Vash had always been trying to get away from Meryl. Not only did her presence around him put her in danger, but she was pushy, persistent, pissy, and just about every other p-word except for penultimate. And passive – Meryl Stryfe was anything but passive.

Yet holding her now felt very much another p-word – proper.

He was just closing his eyes when she mumbled, "You're back."

Vash stiffened. What should he tell her? He had no desire to tell her what had transpired, least of all about having her in his sights. Even though it was unintended, that he had allowed such a thing of himself bothered him greatly. Anything you lined up your sights on was only one trigger pull away from ceasing to live; that was why he was so diligent in his training, to avoid such a circumstance.

To kill with a gun was easy. Far too easy, without the training and discipline it took to walk the line that he did.

"I'm back." The affirmation was all he could think to say.

"Good," Meryl sighed against him.

Even in the darkness, he could see her. Dark hair; light skin; jaw, usually so set firmly in her stubbornness, now relaxed. She really was a lovely woman, all tiny spitfire and courage, ready to take on the world, unyielding in her sense of right and wrong. When was she lovelier – when she was standing defiantly against whatever odds she might be facing, or when she was relaxed as she was right now? He couldn't help but trace her jawline, feeling her move gently against his finger.

Vash remembered Meryl as she had been back at the geo-plant in Promontory, willing to take on the giant Nebraska woman with her derringers and her conviction. What a rare woman this was lying next to him.

"I was just thinking," he said.

"Hmm," came the sleepy response.

"I picked up a gun to protect people. I set out to save lives, not take them. But this world is so desolate, it's like the desolation overflows into your soul. It's happened before, and I've fought it off each time; but I don't know how much more I can take. Everyplace I go, it seems there's always somebody who's a predator, somebody who's a parasite, somebody who's looking to get some more blood on his hands. How long can I fight people like that before I get some blood on my own hands? How long before somebody manages to leave me with no choice?

"How long before I become a killer?"

"Not a killer," Meryl breathed, warm and soft against him.

"I don't want to be," he told her. "But ever since Monev – I was ready to put him down, and even though I didn't, that feeling hasn't gone away. I can't shake it. Everywhere I've been, everything I've seen…I've been able to get rid of it before, but now it's in deeper than it's ever been. So many people dead who didn't have to be…God help me, sometimes it's so hard not to pull the trigger. Why do people allow such hate into their hearts?"

No response came. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest, steady breathing inviting him to continue.

"Do you think there's someplace out there without killing? A place where people aren't as dry as this world?"

"Mmpff," she mumbled.

Vash's mind was moving in high gear now, emotions becoming thoughts and ricocheting off each other. He knew Knives was out there somewhere; Legato Bluesummers was proof enough of that. Knives was out there, waiting, his agents hunting Vash the Stampede. There could be no peace for the Humanoid Typhoon, not until he and Knives faced each other for the last time.

But what if he weren't the Humanoid Typhoon? What if he weren't Vash the Stampede?

It wouldn't last forever, he knew. But Knives had managed to stay hidden since July; if he could go into hiding, why couldn't Vash? Why couldn't he just take a new name and drop out, just for a little while? If Knives could hide from him for a quarter of a century, why couldn't he return the favor?

Maybe Vash could even stay hidden long enough to have a life with someone…

He looked at the woman in his arms, and it dawned on him that as he held her his trigger finger was not twitching. Dawned that he was no longer seeing his gun sights centered on her, only Meryl as she was now, content in his arms. Vash suddenly realized that while he held Meryl, he was steady.

In that moment, he dared to dream.

"I'm not wearing my gun anymore," he said suddenly. "I want to find someplace, someplace nice where I can just stay put and lay low for a while. A new place, a new name – a new life. A quiet life. I could try my hand at farming, or gardening, or carpentry, anything that doesn't have to do with guns. Maybe – if your job is to stick with me all the time – maybe you could try it with me.

"Do you think – do you think you could love someone who just lived a quiet life?"

He was so shyly quiet now that his voice was almost a whisper as he asked what needed to be asked.

"Do you think you could love me?"

There was no response. Had he stunned her into silence? Was she thinking of a reply? Or disgusted by the very thought of loving him?

"Meryl?"

A slight sound escaped her. He leaned in closer and heard her quietly snoring.

Well, son of a bitch – she had slept through everything he had just said!

Astonishment gave way to a wry grin as Vash watched Meryl sleeping in his arms. Planted a soft kiss on her forehead and laid his head down next to hers.

He could say it all again later. What mattered right now was he was with her. He was steady.

As he fell asleep, he realized what that meant – Meryl centered him.


End file.
